Tilly
by MouseTheLass
Summary: Her birth name had been forgotten years ago. To her pimp, she was known as Julia. The girls she lived with called her Bottomfeeder. But to herself, she was Tilly. On a chance meeting outside of a club, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson's lives are about to change. Who is behind the Poe Murders? How is Tilly connected to him? And why was a mass criminal's record wiped clean?
1. Chapter I- Tilly

**So this is my first fanfiction on here... it's written by me and my fiancé Raven. It's rated T for sexual scenes, brutal torture, language, mentions of rape and abuse, heavy themes (sex trafficking, self harm ext.), and character death.**

Chapter I- Tilly

She was known as "Julia Parker" by her master in her apprenticeship. Her birth name had been long since forgotten; crossed out on her birth certificate and erased from the walls of her heart and mind. She couldn't even remember the first letter of it now, it was so long ago that she had last heard it uttered from another person's lips. Her last foster family didn't even use it. They called her "It" instead.

The girls she lived with would sneer at her and whisper "Bottomfeeder" while snickering, knowing that she was their pimp's favorite. She would report to him about anything and everything. It was the only way she could survive, but they didn't know that. All they had to do was sleep with him and whoever he wanted them to and give him the money and they were free until the next sundown. With her, it was different. All different.

But to herself, when she was alone, she would whisper her true name. The name she had given herself.

"Tilly".

She had run across it one night while wondering the streets. It had been carved into a tree next to the name "Patrick" and with a heart around the two. She had muttered the name to herself over and over again, loving the way her lips formed each letter and how it rolled off her tongue. She didn't know the meaning; she didn't care. All that mattered was that she had given herself a name. No one used it except for her, but as long as she knew it, that was good enough.

Tilly sat on the sidewalk under a street light on a deserted back ally, cigarette in her hand, the smoke dancing upwards towards the sky. She raised it to her lips and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as the smoke entered her lungs, filled them with tar, tobacco, and nicotine, and leaned her head back towards the sky as she slowly blew back out, her mouth making the shape of an "O". She sighed softly and opened her eyes, her arm dropping to knee.

How long is this going to take? She wondered. He was supposed to be here by now.

She looked back towards the street, looking up and down it, searching for the red Mustang that should have appeared already. But it hadn't. Not that she was surprised; he was always late to pick her up. Sometimes he never even showed.

Tilly sighed again and took another drag from her cigarette, looking down at the look gravel beneath her booted feet. How many years had it been now? Five? Ten? She couldn't remember when it was that she became Avery's apprentice, just that the man who had suddenly appeared on her orphanage doorstep wearing a Westwood suit and a one-hundred notes grin upon his handsome face.

He has signed the adoption papers quickly, taking her under his wing as soon as he let his eyes fall on her bruised and battered face, surrounded by her long, choppy auburn hair and a scowl of distaste on her face. The background check had gone perfectly; not a single checkmark out of place. If they only knew who he really was and that he had only used his twin brother's name. What fools.

Then again... how could they ever accuse a man as handsome, kind, and thoughtful as him to be a pimp, involved in sex trafficking?

Tilly scoffed and finished her cigarette, putting it out as she blew out the smoke and standing up. She looked up and down the street once more before shoving a hand into in her pocket and stepping up onto the curb, throwing her rutsack over her shoulder, and heading around the corner, head down as she thought. She knew her destination, she didn't need to look up. She had walked this path thousands of times during her outtings to the buyers Avery set up for her.

The check ups with the social workers after the adoption had been perfect as well. Perfectly played, perfectly faked. Avery was a mastermind when it came to getting the turn outs. He played the game, gained everyone's trust, and when eyes were closed, he changed. The smile would disappear and "Daddy" would appear.

"Daddy"... The title that the girls were forced to call Avery make a shudder crawl down her spine. She hated how some of the girls flaunted over him and moaned it as he was gaining his pleasure from them. She refused to utter a sound during those times; refused to flaunt over him and refused to call him "Daddy". He had once tried to beat the habit of her using his given name out of her, but it didn't work. Eventually, after putting a gun to her head and her still refusing, he decided it wasn't worth it. Why lose his favorite play thing, his more prized possession, over something as small as that? He still had the same amount of power over her, it didn't matter what she called him.

Tilly stopped when she felt the heat of the bright lights of the club sign above her. The music was blasting and she could see people dancing and drinking inside, unbeknownst to them the night she had just endured.

Nearly fifteen men that night... fifteen. The marks that covered her body would be more scars to add to her "collection". She scoffed at her bitter joke before reaching into her purse and pulling out her fake I.D. and approaching the club. The greeters took one look at her and let her in; she was known here.

That was the only greeting they gave each other. Knowing each other's faces and the silent pact between them.

Once she entered the club, she went straight up to the bar, catching the eyes of several men as she went, including the bartender who instantly went to make her usual drink.

Tilly glanced at the stage and noticed with grim satisfaction that they had pole dancers tonight. They were practically humping the poles, the thirsty whores.

"Here you go." The bartender said, setting her drink down in front of her. She nodded barely, turning her back on the stage as she lifted the drink to her lips and feeling the alcohol slip down her throat, the burning sensation filling her. She shut her eyes, savoring it.

Who was she to call the pole dancers whores when, she hereself, was one. Had been for years. She had no room to talk.

When had it all started, she wondered as she opened her eyes and swirled her drink, watching the ice clink together. She couldn't remember how old she was when she was when she was molested by a foster parent; just that she had been small and that it was around that time that she began to close up and pull into herself. She didn't talk to much of anyone anymore, much like Avery's bodyguard, Alvin, who was a chosen mute.

Tilly turned back to the pole dancers and watched them for a bit longer as she sipped her drink absent mindedly. When she had finished, she decided that her stay was overdone and set her amount due, including a tip, upon the counter before walking out the door without a word to the men drooling after her.

Just as she was walking out, a cab pulled up and two men got out. One was wearing an overcoat with a blue scarf around his neck, his curly hair a mess, and the other wore a black jacket over a sweatervest, grey hair combed and kept. The one with the overcoat was taller than his companion and had a serious, stern look on his face while the other man looked around with curiosity. The tall one glanced over at her and the two made eye contact, causing Tilly to stop, a sudden, powerful urge swelling in her chest, one she hadn't felt in years. One she couldn't ignore, no matter how hard and tried to push everything away and hide the gifts she had been given.

Instantly, her mind began to work as her eyes ran over the man, taking in the smallest detail, learning all she could about him, trying to quench the thirst she felt for knowledge.

_The faint smell of cigarettes indicated he's a smoker. The small bits of ash prove that he has recently finished his most resent one even though his companion seems to think that he's stopped. The way he stands means he's isolated, untrusting of others and prefers to be alone, but the angle of his body is turned towards his companion means he trust him, has let him close._

_Bag under his eyes. He hasn't slept well in a few days, something has been troubling him. But what? Something... family issue? No, he isn't close to family and, again, the way he stands-tense and rigged-means he's on guard. No, not family. He's searching for someone. A friend? No, enemy. But why would he be looking for an enemy?_

Her eyes quickly darted to his pockets where his hands were stashed.

_A cell phone. He's gripping it tightly, almost like he's waiting for it to go off. But who would he be waiting for a call from? Not family, no friends... someone with information on his enemy. But this isn't a personal search... no. If it were, he wouldn't be wanting help from anyone who could use a cell phone. That would cause suspicion if someone were to get hurt or go missing... It would trace back to people and eventually point straight to him. No... This is professional._

Then it hit her and fear suddenly engulfed her heart and her breath caught in her throat. She felt sick.

_He works with the police._

Tilly was instantly on guard, staggering back and pulling her hands out of her pockets, glaring at the men, ready to grab her knife if she needed to. There was no way in hell that she was about to let these two *police cock suckers* cause her to be caught. No way in _hell_.

It was then she noticed the man had been doing the same thing she was: deducting.

_Oh, God..._ she thought as she half gagged on her own saliva, beginning to shake; from fear, the ill feeling in her stomach, or the cold, London night air, she wasn't sure. He's like me.

He looked back at her and she felt her heart pounding in her chest, threatening to explode.

_How much does he know?_

Slowly, the man smirked, only a corner of his mouth turning upwards barely.

"Sherlock?" His companion said, curiously. The man-Sherlock, where had she heard that name...?-turned away from her then, tearing his gaze from her, and started towards the club without saying a word. His companion glanced at her once, confused, their eyes meeting briefly, before following. Then, he was gone as well.

Leaving Tilly alone outside the club, trying to calm her racing heart and forbid herself from vomiting.

_Avery would have killed me..._

With fear still consuming her, she began to run down the streets, desperate to get back home and into the bed she shared with her pimp, desperate to escape the man named Sherlock.


	2. Ch II- Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

**My excitement got ahead of me... So here's chapter two!**

**On another note, please check out my fellow writer's story "Fix You" by Sherlockian. It's amazing so far and she just started. Read it and review for her. Well all know how much we love reviews!**

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Chapter II- Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair in the residence of 221B on Baker Street with his legs sitting on either side of the coffee table in front of him, dressed in a bathrobe, his hands folded together and his fingertips pressed to his chin, just under his lower lip, eye brows furrowed together as he was lost in thought. Across from him sat a rather bored looking Mycroft Holmes, dressed in his usual suit, as he watched his brother take in the information he had bestowed upon him.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, wanting confirmation, his voice tight and sharp.

"Positive." Mycroft stated simply in a rather lazy drawl. Sherlock exhaled heavily before slapping his hands on the arms of his chair and jumping up.

"Well, no point in sitting about dwelling on it!" He said as he got up, went to the window, and grasped his violin, beginning to play as his brother glared at him slightly.

"This is no easy matter, Sherlock," Mycroft stated. "You need to be taking this seriously."

The violin music ceased suddenly and Sherlock spun around to face his brother and began to stalk over to him as he spoke through his teeth.

"'Taking this seriously'?" He snarled. "Do you have _any_ idea what this means, Mycroft?"

"Oh brother mine," Mycroft spoke in a sickly sweet voice as his eyes glissned with mischief. "I know *exactly* what all this means. Which is why," he stood as he spoke, sighing as he did and grabbing the umbrella leaning against the chair beside him. He looked down at Sherlock as he continued in a softer voice. "You should be taking this seriously."

Sherlock spun on his heel and stalked back to the window, shouting, "What's the point!? You already know how it'll turn out anyways, why do _I_ have to go?"

"Because Detective Inspector Lestrade asked you to."

"And I gladly declined because the case was boring and uneventful!"

"You are going, Sherlock, and I will not hear another word about your displeasure!"

"For God's sake!" Sherlock shouted and he lashed out, knocking down a lamp and his music stand out of rage. As soon as the crash shouted, the Holmes brothers heard Mrs. Hudson running upstairs.

"Oh!" She panted, hand to her chest as she wildly looked around the room. "Are you boys okay? I heard a shout and-."

"We are _fine _Mrs. Hudson, now if you would kindly leave that would be much appreciated because, as you must always point out, you are the landlady not the house keeper so therefor you have no reason to be sticking your nose in our business!" Sherlock yelled, only turning to face her as he finished speaking. Mrs. Hudson made a hurt sound before pointing a finger at him.

"I surely do hope you never spoke to your mother that way, young man!"

"OUT!" Sherlock roared and Mrs. Hudson hurried away, slamming the door shut as she went.

"Well, that went swimmingly, didn't it, brother mine?" Mycroft said sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up!" Sherlock snapped, rubbing his temples as he walked over to the couch and flopped down onto it, on his side, arms crossed and glaring at the fireplace across the room.

Mycroft watched his brother for a moment before sighing and walking towards the door. He opened it and paused, looking back at Sherlock as he spoke, "You are to be at the club at 11:45 this evening. That is when the target will be there. I trust you'll be able to deduce who it is based upon how he ties his shoes?" He added the last part sarcasticly and, after gaining no reaction, sighed and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

God, Sherlock needed a smoke.

The case in question had been offered to him over a week ago by Detective Inspector Lestrade and involved a murderer and rapist in the third degree who had left, at each of his four crime scenes, a poem or story consiting of murder or torture written by the late Edgar Allen Poe. Sherlock had looked at the case files, of course, but had decided the case would have bored him.

Well, at least that was his excuse.

In truth, Sherlock found the case intriguing-exciting even- and if it weren't for his most recent struggle in being able to concentrate, he would have taken it.

He hadn't told anyone about this problem, but he was almost positive that Dr. John Waton knew something was wrong, based on the look he gave Sherlock every time he snapped at Anderson, Donovan, Lestrade, and several others-including John himself-much more frequently as of late. If any of them so much as *breathed* too loudly, he was shouting at them to shut up and leave the room if they couldn't keep their stupidity from spreading to everyone else in the room. Of course, when John would point out that breathing was needed in order to live and didn't spread stupidity, Sherlock would sarcastically retort back with how that the human race needed to find a better way to live that wouldn't spread their spent air around.

Needless to say, Sherlock didn't feel like putting up with everyone's stupidity, so he decided not to take the case.

But now that Lestrade had decided to alert his dear brother Mycroft and decided to get him to stick his unusually large nose into Sherlock's business, Sherlock had no choice but to go.

The door opened to the flat then and John walked in carrying several bags of groceries inside. He walked into the kitchen, struggling slightly, and set the bags down before walking back into the living room and standing in Sherlock's vision, trying to get his attention.

"Did you not get any of my texts?" He asked Sherlock, who was seeming to look straight through him and to the fireplace that wad behind John.

"Mmm, oh yes." Sherlock drawled. "My phone kept going off while Mycroft was here and I shot it." John just stared at him.

"You-you shot it?" John repeated, staring at him with raised eyebrows as the words sunk in.

"Yes."

"Sherlock, I was trying to get ahold of you! It was important."

"Contrary to what you believe, no one but you cares about what scent of aftershave you use." Sherlock snapped. John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was getting really sick of this...

"Lestrade called me," he told his flatmate. "He told me you declined a case?"

"The one that Mycroff has forced me into so willingly?" The way Sherlock said it was more of a growl than anything and John knew Sherlock was not too happy about his brother's sudden involvement. Suddenly, Sherlock was up and heading towards his bedroom, hurrying pass John as he spoke. "Hurry up and get ready. We are headed to Scotland Yard to read the file and then to the Sweetladies Club."

"Sweetladies-" SLAM! "Club?" John signed and shook his head before returning to the kitchen to put the groceries away.

He was finishing with the last bag when Sherlock's bedroom door swung open and Sherlock, shirtless, hurried into the bathroom slamming that door behind him.

"Sherlock?" John called curiously, going to the bathroom door and knocking on it.

"Go away!" Sherlock snapped from inside, souding like he was in pain.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked worriedly.

"I said go away!"

John sighed and closed his eyes. _Fucking stubborn sociopath._ He walked away and finished the grocery bag and sat in his chair, deep in thought as he waited for Sherlock to return, not thinking too much about Sherlock's strange behavior.

-SH-

"So, let me get this straight," John began two hour later as he and Sherlock joined Lestrade in his offer overlooking the case files for the rapist and murderer case. "This murderer is leaving stories and poems but Edgar Allen Poe at the crime scenes, but none of them have any connection whatsoever?"

Sherlock was rustling through the papers he had scattered on Lestrade's desk, not paying attention to either of them as he thought. _What was the connection?_ He wondered. He looked at the bodies; on was ripped to thin shreds like ribbons, one was burned beyond reconization, one was torn limb from limb, and the last one was literally gutted and turned inside out. They were gruesome, gruesome murders that would make anyone's stomach turn; but not Sherlock's. He was cold and calloused to these kind of cases and had been for many, many years.

Seeing no connection with the states of the murders, he turned once again to the items of literature left behind.

The first piece of literature was "The Black Cat"; followed by "The Devil In the Belfry", "The Tell-Tale Heart", and finally, "The Raven". None of which, after reading them over and over again to the point he had memorized each, seemed to have any connection with each other.

Sherlock's head hurt. He sat back and rubbed his temples trying desperately to ease the throbbing pain in his head. Why was he having such trouble concentrating? What was bloody wrong with him?

"...Sherlock!"

Sherlock startled awake and looked around wildly. Slowly, John and Lestrade's faces swam into view as Sherlock blinked and upon recognizing them, he tried to calm his racing heart.

"What happened?" He groaned as the sharp pain returned to his head.

"You passed out." John said, a look of worry on his face.

"Are you feeling alright?" Lestrade asked.

"Fine." Sherlock snapped, sitting up and using the desk to pull himself up into his feet. He staggered slightly, but used the DI's desk to steady himself. "What time is it?" He asked.

"Nearly 11." John replied, standing as well as Lestrade.

"We should be going." Sherlock said. To Lestrade he continued, "Mycroft stopped by today and gave me a small bit of information on this case. We are looking for a man named Michael Sombre. He's not the murderer, but he has some information on these cases. We will find him at the club called Sweetladies. Mycroft didn't release how he knew this information, but knowing him and his sources..." He let the sentence trail off, not wanting to admit that Mycroft was nearly always right.

Lestrade nodded. "Good luck then."

Sherlock nodded once before sweeping from the room, John following close behind. The two got into a cab and Sherlock was already barking the destination to the driver and they were speeding off before John could even shut the door.

The car ride was unusually silent. When John glanced over at Sherlock, he saw his friend rubbing his right arm absentmindedly with his left. He was frowning as he looked out the window. It was as if his arm was painning him, but yet he didn't look as if he were in pain.

What was going on with him, John wondered. He had been acting out of character as of late. Having difficulty concentrating, being much, much more irritable, the bathroom incident, and now his arm...

Maybe it's all just coincidence, John brushed it off. It's just a coincidence.

Half hour later, they pulled up to the club and Sherlock quickly climbed out and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the club. John rolled his eyes and paid the driver before getting out as well.

He stopped when he realized Sherlock was still standing where he had gotten out and was watching a young girl who was leaving the club and wearing rather exposing clothing, much too thin for the winter weather.

John couldn't stop his gaze from traveling to her exposed chest; the shirt didn't leave much to the imagination; and the skirt wasn't much better.

She was flawless.

John swallowed hard and tried desperately to control his body and forced his eyes up to his friend who had the all-too familiar look on his face.

_Oh no,_ John thought. _He's deducing her._

Sherlock's mind was working rapidly.

_18 to 20 years old. Two abortions, one miscarriage. All in the past two years. All different men. Stand off-ish. On guard. Untrusting. She has a lot of dark secrets. No real profession. Her hands are much too soft. She's much too skinny, providing that she's anorexic and border line bulimic._

His eyes lingered on her wrists and he narrowed his eyes.

Upon each of her wrists were very line, paled lines. As his eyes traveled up her arms, he saw many more all the way up. She had desperately applied cover up to them, as if her life depended on someone not seeing them.

_Suicidal._ He concluded. _Suicidal and depressed. Insolmiac, guessing by the bags under her eyes. How many suicide attempts? Hard to tell. Two at the least; one at each wrist. The left one is more recent, indicating that she started with the right therefor she's left handed. People never start with their dominate hand. It's not natural to them and they want to feel safe and secure._

His eyes met hers suddenly and he saw her stiffen and stagger backwards slightly, eyes wide in fear. Sherlock clutched his phone tighter. If only he hadn't shot the damn thing earlier... He could get help for this girl.

_Not your division._ Lestrade's voice mocked him in his head and he had to push the voice away.

Instead, Sherlock smirked ever so slightly at the girl, watching as she narrowed her eyes at that. Hmm, interesting. She seems to know something that upsets her...

_She deduced._ Mycroft's voice that time. Sherlock stiffened further.

_She couldn't have... No! She's couldn't have. She-_

"Sherlock?" That was John. The real John. Not John from his mind palace. Real, physical John.

Sherlock turned his head away and walked into the club without saying a word. A few seconds later, he heard John behind him as they walked past the greeters and into the club, music vibrating the ground beneath their feet as they did.

"What was that about?" John asked his flatmate.

"She's deduced me." Sherlock meant to say buy instead, other words came out.

"She's in danger." He said stiffly. He had surprised himself that that was what he decided to tell John rather than ignore it. He was really acting unlike himself...

"Of what?" John exclaimed. Sherlock glanced at him before pulling John's phone from his pocket and dialing Lestrade's number and turning back towards the door.

"Of herself."

John felt his heart sink and he stopped in his tracks for a second as Sherlock's words echoed in his ears. Seeing his friend walking out of the club, he quickly followed, the case forgotten by them both.

/

**A/N: please please please review! It encourages me and makes me happy:) any tips or ideas or questions, send me an IM! **

**Thanks for reading**!


	3. Chapter III- Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

**Okay I should stop posting for today...**

**Anyways, since it has only just started, I decided to give you this chapter as well. Please note, I have a LOT of chapters already typed so that's why I've been posting so many on here...**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter III- Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

_Have to get away..._ Tilly thought to herself as she ran, her heart hammering inside her chest as she pumped her legs, trying to go faster than her body was willing to go. _Have to get away... I can't risk them catching me..._

Rain was pouring down from the sky now, drenching Tilly completely as she ran. She could feel the ice cold water seeping into her clothes and skin, causing the burns from that nights adventures to sizzle and ache.

She ignored the pain, trying desperately to run faster, to put further distance between her and the two men.

_Have to get away..._

Suddenly, someone grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into an alley, covering her mouth with their hand. She gave out a strangled scream, fighting against the person, kicking and punching, biting their hand until she tasted blood.

She heard a belt being undone and panic overtook her.

_No! Nononononononono!_

The harder she fought, the quicker the man worked on his pants. Once they were undone, she was slammed into the wall of the ally, hand still over her mouth, her head banging against it causing her vision to start to spin. She felt her captor rip her tights and yank her panties to the side and Tilly kicked her leg back in a desperate attempt to stop her attacker. All that she managed to do though is give her attacker leverage as they grabbed her ankle before moving closer, gripping her thigh.

Then she felt him rubbing against her, preparing himself.

In a final attempt, she clamped down on his hand and, at the same time, brought her elbow down upon his arm, hearing a sickening "CRACK".

Her attacker screamed in pain and released her as blood splattered on her back. She collapsed on the ground, her head spinning as blood oozed from the split on her head. She looked up in time to see her attacker running, leaving a trail of blood behind from the gun wound he had received.

"Sherlock!" She heard someone yell. They sounded so far away...

"She's losing a lot of blood..."

"...hospital..."

"Where's Lestrade?"

"...we need an ambulance..."

"Hold...a little be longer."

"...pressure..."

"There..."

"Hold on... Help...on...way..."

"What happen?"

"...attacked..."

"...needs serious medical care..."

"...the case..."

"Forget about the bloody case..."

"...John..."

"Solider...doctor...killed people..."

"Quickly."

"About time!"

Being lifted, pain everywhere, doors slamming shut, sirens...

"Don't fall asleep... Need... Awake..."

Someone was gripping her hand. She blinked, trying desperately to stay awake.

"Must not lose consciousness."

"Hang in there..."

Her vision cleared for just a second and she saw the shorter man from outside the club beside her, clutching her hand. She turned her head to see Sherlock on the other side, his face gaurded, watching her.

She blinked a few more times, each time her vision worsening. She heared the two men still speaking, but couldn't process what they were saying.

Tilly couldn't hang on anymore... The pain was too much.

She shut her eyes, felling the darkness take her over, and went limp.

-SH-

John sat in the waiting room, his head in his hands, Sherlock and Lestrade beside him. They had been sitting there for an hour already, waiting for the information on the mysterious girl.

John kept telling himself that they hadn't been too late... That she would be okay and that she would recover fully. But he had seen the damage to her head; the likelihood of her recovery was slim.

Sherlock stood suddenly and started to pace back and forth, sitting for too long causing him to be restless.

Had the man in the alley been their rapiest and killer? Who was the mysterious girl that had deduced him? Why was his head _still _hurting?

Sherlock stopped pacing and rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to ease the pain.

"Sherlock?"

He turned to look at Lestrade who had spoken, surprised to notice that his vision was rather blurry. He blinked several times, trying to clear his version.

"What happened out there?" Sherlock shook his head, finally clearing his vision before responding.

"We found her outside the club," he explained. "She deduced me as I did the same to her. She's suicidal. I decided to follow her. In the ally, a man was attempting to rape her and I shot him."

"Do you think he was the one behind the other attacks?" Lestrade asked.

"I'm not sure."

"Do we really have to discuss this right now?" John snapped, causing the other two to look at him. "I mean, there's a girl in the hospital with possible permanent brain damage."

"So?" Sherlock asked causing John to just stare at him. "She may be connected to the case, that's all that matters."

"That's all that matters?" John echoed.

"What, you honestly think I honestly cared what happened to this girl? There's a reason she was at the club and then got attacked. It's most likely tied to the case."

"You are really," John began, his anger taking over. "Really a heartless bastard, aren't you?" With that, he stood up and stormed off, heading down the hall, in the direction the doctors had taken the girl an hour earlier. Sherlock and Lestrade watched him stalk off. Sherlock turned towards the DI a confused look on his face.

"What did I say?" He asked, complete oblivious. Lestrade sighed.

_You really need a heart..._

-SH-

John sat outside the ER alone, waiting for the doctors to come out and tell him about the girl's state.

What was wrong with Sherlock? Why did everyone he came across have to somehow be part of a case, a science experiment, instead of them being an actual human being? John sighed, rubbing his temples before yawning.

It had been a long day, and an even longer night. He checked his watch.

1:55am.

He had to be at work in less then 6 hours for a large surgery.

_Goddamnit..._ he thought. _Why tonight? Why did this have to happen tonight?_

The doors opened, startling John slightly, and the doctor emerged. John stood, his heart suddenly feeling like it was going to explode.

"How is she?" He asked, dreading the answer.

The doctor looked at him and sighed before shaking his head, saying, "She'll live. She's a lucky one. Only a concussion and stitches. We aren't sure how she managed to avoid brain damage, but she did. She's a small miracle, that one." John couldn't stop the relief from showing as he sighed in gratefulness and visibly relaxed.

"Thank you, doctor." He said.

The doctor nodded. "She's lucky you were around when you were," he added. "You're welcome to go in now and sit with her if you would like." John nodded and walked into the room, the doctor going out to speak with Lestrade and Sherlock.

The girl was dressed in a hospital gown, hooked up to a heart monitor, IV, and morphine tank, her head wrapped in gauze, asleep. _Minor concussion..._ John thought. _How did she manage to only escape with a minor concussion?_

He pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. He glance at her hand, hesitanting to hold it, in the end he gripped it and sigh softly, watching her face.

She looked peaceful as she slept; not guarded or fearful like she had outside the club.

She was really a pretty girl. Her eyes, he remembered, were hazel with small specks of gold in them; her hair was auburn and had natural small curls; her skin was soft and smooth, not a single mark on her face as if she had gone through puberty without a single pimple; the only marks on her skin that he could see where the faint scars scattered up and down her arms. There was another faint scar on her neck, John realized with a sinking feeling. The closer he looked, the more marks appeared all over her neck and disappeared down under the gown.

_Dear God..._ John thought in horror. He looked back at her face and gently moved some of her curls out of her face.

"Who are you?" He whispered to her. She didn't answer, not that he expected one. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock abd Lestrade standing out at the window, watching them. He looked up at them, the emotion showing through his eyes. Lestrade glanced to Sherlock who was just staring at the girls with his eyes narrowed, lost deep in thought.

Just then, John's phone went off with a text and he quickly fished it out. It was an blocked number, causing him to frown. He opened it and he felt his heart sink.

_Bring the girl to Attenborough Jewellers & Pawnbrokers by midnight on the 15th. If you miss this curfew, another will meet a deadly end._

_-A_

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**Yep... Well, that's it for today. Cliff hanger! If I get more reviews I'll be nice and post another chapter (of three haha) before Friday.**

**Please review!**

**Mouse**


	4. Chapter IV- Arrival of the Raven

**So obviously, I lied. But this is the las one for today I swear! .**

**Thank you to those who have been reviewing! It's amazing to read them:)**

**Here you go, ladies, gents, and others. Arrival of the Raven. **

**Please reviewwwwww!**

**\\**

Chapter IV- Arrival of the Raven

Sherlock was staring up at the ceiling in the flat 221B, eyes narrowed in thought. John sat at his desk at the computer, trying desperately to finish his blog post for that week's earlier adventure.

It had been three days since they had found the girl and got the mysterious text message, telling him to bring the girl to the pawn shop on the 15th which was two weeks away still, and they hadn't received anymore. After John had spoken to Lestrade and Sherlock and shown them the text, they had decided that, if the girl woke by then, they would see if she knew anything about this person, "A".

If she didn't wake up by then... Well... They would come up with a plan as it got closer to the due date.

Until then, they decided, they would wait. Lestrade and Sherlock had agreed that A nighy have something to do with the case they were on and that the girl was, in some way, connected to their rapiest and murderer.

"She's the key to finding him," Sherlock had said confidently.

"I agree," Lestrade had nodded before chuckling dryly. "Looks like we didn't need Michael Sombre after all."

"If she proves not to be what we need," John argued, irratated that they were acting like the girl was nothing more, but a part to play in the case. "Then Mycrofft is going to be sorely angry about us not using the information he already gave us."

"My dear brother can take his disappointment and stick it up his ass." Sherlock had growled, hatred dripping from his voice. The tone, and contex in which he spoke, surprised both his companions.

They hadn't said anymore on that subject, deciding that they would take turns watching over the girl on shifts. Sherlock had agreed only when John had glared warningly at him.

Lestrade said he would take the watch on Sunday's and Monday's during the day-his days off- Sherlock would take the evenings on those days with the addictions of Tuesday's and Wednesday's in the daytime. John would take the rest of the week, mornings and nights, wanting to keep his eye on her as much as possible. He had already cleared it with his work, using his vacation time to do so.

Now, it was Wednesday and Sherlock would be leaving soon to go do his watch-which he was none too happy about-leaving John to get some much needed rest.

Sherlock stood and walked into the kitchen silently. He had been quiet all day, for most of the week in all honesty, leaving John to work and for himself to think.

John sat back and rubbed his face, yawning. He was drained of energy, not getting a lot of sleep between work these last couple of days he wasn't able to get off and keep watch on the girl.

When Sherlock reamerged, he grabbed his scarf and coat and slipped them on, grabbing a terminus cup with tea in it.

"I'm going to the hospital for my watch." He said plainly. John nodded and watched him leave, a feeling in the pit of his stomach like something was seriously wrong with his friend.

He pushed the nagging aside and leaned back with a sigh. His eyes started to get heavy and he decided it was time to turn in for the night. Saving the draft of his blog entry, he shut his laptop and stood, cleaning up the flat a bit before heading upstairs to bed. It didn't take long after he showered and changed for him to fall into a deep, deep sleep.

-SH-

Alex Corvin stepped off the train carrying only a suitcase at his stop in London and took a deep breath in, closing his eyes for a moment as he took it all in. He was back... After all these years, after serving in the war in Afghanistan as part of the French Foreign Legion, he was finally back in London.

Of course, he wasn't there on Holiday. It was simply a job he had been given; hired to do by an unknown source. He was to wedge his way into the Buckingham Palace to retrieve a rare vase of Queen Elizabeth's worth 10,000 pounds. If he was able to retrieve it, he would be given forty percent of the income and be able to walk away freely.

Walking out of the subway station and into the cool, night air of the city, Alex began his way towards the old warehouse he used to reside. Two years ago, after fighting in the war and being dishonorably discharged for stealing artifacts from the palace in Afghanistan when his unit was looking for the terrorists, he had been arrested on charges against several countries. Starting with, but not limited to, the United States of America, Canada, Brazil, Japan, China, Russia, France, and, of course, the United Kingdom. These, among several others, had enough evidence against him for the death penalty sixty times over.

But, somehow, he had been released. The leaders from each of the countries he had gone against had all signed a pact; one of which none of them were happy about. Alex hadn't even been allowed to see the pact. Then again, why would he have been? He was a criminal, and one of the best at that.

Alex had charges against him on nearly every level. The only crime he hadn't done was any form of rape; everything else came naturally to him. Forgery, art theft famous pieces such as including Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, and the Starry Night, art forgery in all the previous stated pieces and including the Great Wave of Kanagawa, hacking into government and military information, disrupting the peace on more occasions than he was willing to count, impersonating an officer of the military, impersonating more than a dozen police officers, impersonating an interpol agent, impersonating a judge (that had just been for fun), defacement of public property ever since he was eight years old, defacement of government property (the White House and Buckingham Palace included), and grand theft auto.

Murder wasn't unknown by him either; he had killed anyone who got in his way of running for nearly a year before being caught by his own, the French Foreign Legion, and taken into custody for two years while he waited to meet his fate.

But, he had been set free thanks to an unknown person who had suggested the pact; and now he was back in London, where it all started.

Alex couldn't say he was necessarily _happy_ to be back, but he wasn't miserable about it either. All he was doing was completing a job, then he was going to go off into hiding and live the rest of his life a fugitive, living off the land, alone. And he was perfectly okay with that.

By the time he reached the warehouse, it had started to rain again, causing Alex to hurry inside.

The small, abandoned warehouse smelt of mold, ash, seasalt, and dust. It was both familiar and distant at the same time; everything was just how he had left it. It was old and broken down, only one small room occupieble. An old TV sat on the ground in one corner with a red armchair and TV tray in front of it. In the back there was a bed pushed all the way against the wall with a dresser at the foot of it. Everything was covered in dust and muggy, causing him to wrinkle his nose and cough slightly.

He walked over to the bed and set his suitcase down, dust flying up from the mattress and covers causing him to cough harder. He waved his hand in front of his face to make the dust disappear before opening his suitcase, revealing nothing more than a deck of playing cards, a blue rubber ball, a set of causal clothes, a flask, and a single raven feather.

He pulled out the clothes and changed out of his suit and tie, slipping into the slightly-too-big artifacts of clothing before setting the suit aside atop the dusty, old dresser and clothing his suitcase and setting it on the ground next to the bed.

Weariness over took him suddenly and he laid down on the bed, more dust flying out of it and causing him to cough and splutter again before closing his eyes and falling asleep, taking care to stay perfectly still so not to disturb anymore dust.


	5. Ch V-While I Pondered Weak and Weary

Chapter V- While I Pondered Weak and Weary

Tilly was swimming in darkness.

It felt like an ocean, wave after wave covering her until she was sucked under and couldn't breathe. When she finally did get to the surface for air, it was only for a second before she was sucked under again, longer than the time before.

She heard voices all around her, muffled while she was under the water, clearer when she was above.

"...A..."

"Unknown number..."

"Killer... Rapest..."

"Girl..."

"...case..."

"What... Do we..."

"Take her..."

"...pawn shop?"

"...suicidal..."

"Keep her safe..."

"...at risk..."

"Death."

She heard beeping of a machine in the background, like a steady heart beat. Slowly, with each time she was sucked under and rose back up, it quickened. Faster and faster it went. Before long, she was beginning to suffocate, the darkness closing in.

"Help...me..." She tried to gasp out, her mouth only filling with the water made of darkness. She began fighting against it desperately, trying to reach the surface again, trying to fight in order to live. Harder, harder and fought until finally, she burst out of the water and light burst up all around her, making her gasp. Voice all around began yelling and shouting, calling for a nurse, the beeping screaming as she felt her heart about to burst.

"No!" Tilly screamed, thrashing wildly, her eyes wide and crazed. Nurses started running to her room, trying to hold her down and give her anaesthetic. She continued to scream, fighting against them all. "Stop!"

"Stop it! Don't you see she's terrified!?"

That was a man's voice; one she recognized, if only vaguly. Instantly, she froze and fell silent, panting, looking for the source of the voice, a feeling of calmness overtaking her. The nurses all stopped, looking at her wearily.

John made his way back to the bed, having moved away when the nurses came in, and sat back down, smiling softly at the girl.

"Hey," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"

She stared at him, her heart pace slowing gradually, the beeping slowing with it. He swallowed and looked around the room cautiously, looking at the faces and the machines all around her. The nurses stared at her as if she would start thrashing and screaming again as the man in the chair beside her watched her gently, a look of concern on his face. Everyone else just seemed to stare at her with blank faces.

_What the hell is going on?_

"Where am I?" Her voice sounded small and weak, almost far away.

"The hospital," John spoke softly. "You were injured five days ago after you left the club."

"The club?" Tilly echoed, confusion etched on her face as she looked back at John. Then, everything came rushing back to her.

That night... The club... Deduceing the strange man... This man had been with him... Realizing that the man was doing the same to her... Running... Nearly being raped... Breaking her attackers arm at the same time a gun shot was fired... Then, blackness...

She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea over took her. She heard John speaking to a nurse and then felt a cool glass being lifted to her lips with the order to drink. She was too tired to fight, so so complied.

_Water..._

When she had her fill, she layed back and placed a hand on her throbbing head, groaning softly. When she opened her eyes again, there were only three people in the room, other than herself. The man in the chair beside her, the strange man from outside the club closer to the door, and another man with grey hair she didn't recognize. She turned her head to the man beside her.

"Who are you people?" She asked, frowning slightly.

"My name is John Watson," the man introduced himself. "The man beside the door is Sherlock Holmes and the other is-"

"Detective Inspector Gavin Lestrade." Sherlock cut in, causing Tilly to whip her head around to him and her heart start to race again, the room filling with the quickening beeps.

"_Greg_!" Lestrade growled, glaring at Sherlock who ignored him as he approached the bed on the opposite side of John. Tilly glared at him.

"You're the man from the telly," she said slowly. "The one that solved the murders."

"Ah, so you've heard of me." He grinned slightly.

"Indeed," she responded, folding her hands on her lap. "I know you solved the suicide murders on the 30th of January when Detective Inspector Lestrade here hired you because he found a note with a fourth victim. I also know that on March 26th you discovered that the deaths connected to the Chinese symbols were due to a group looking for an Empress's hairpin and that your companion and his date were almost killed because their captors believed he was the great Sherlock Holmes," she put air quotes around his name and said it mockingly before continuing. "And on March 29th, you were dragged into a large game of I Spy when you were forced to save lives of civilians with bombs strapped to their chests by solving amateur puzzles set up for you by a man you had never met. That is, up until John here met you at the swimming pool after you played fetch and got a computer drive that held government information on it. Of course, the two of you lived to see another day thanks to Irene Adler who had called your captor on the phone. Then you and her played a little game together, but you couldn't deduce her very easily, could you, Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock just stared at Tilly, the room filled with silence before she continued. "No. Not until you could pulse and tell that you affected her in such a way. Until then, you couldn't figure out the puzzle for your dear brother, Mycroft. And when you did, she was ruined, but you fixed that, didn't you? Saving her pitiful life just in time. Oh, but John didn't even know about that little detail, did he, Mr. Holmes?"

The three men just stared at the girl in shock until John spoke up and said, "Well, she obviously has read the blog."

"No," Sherlock said softly. "She didn't read the blog. She knows about all this, she didn't just read it, did you?"

"We don't have internet access," said Tilly with a smirk. "No. I've been keeping my eye on you, Mr. Holmes. You can say that you're my... well let's say, inspiration."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the smirking girl, his mind working rapidly.

"And before you draw conclusions," Tilly interrupted his thoughts. "I'm not the Poe killer. In fact, I'm in the same boat you are. I've been looking for him."

"Wait, you've been looking for our killer?" Greg asked, confused.

"Indeed," Tilly nodded. "He killed a few friends of mine. And before you, again, jump to conclusions about the man in the alley, no that wasn't him. He was simply a rapest looking for a fix. I've been in the same room as this killer. I don't know his face, I don't know his name, but I know the sound of his breathing and the smell that lingers after him. You learn to pick up on those sort of things in my field."

"Your field?" John asked.

"Prostitution." Sherlock broke in and Tilly nodded.

"Irene Adler and I talked on a few occasions," Tilly explained. "She told me all about you and your cases. She and my... employer I guess we could say, worked together on occasion. She and I became very close friends. _Very_ close indeed."

"And the killer?" Sherlock pushed for more.

"As I said before, he has killed a few of my friends," she explained. "Which made me very interested in him. I hope you don't mind, Inspector, but I visited the crime scenes on several occasions so see what clues I could find. He drops his piece of literature before he performs the act, not after. So the man in the alley wasn't him."

"Who are you?" Greg asked, shaking his head in bewilderment. Tilly froze for a second, looking down at her hands.

_Which name should she give them..._

These people were different, she could tell. In fact, she knew that she could possibly start over if she proved herself and her talents. Was she afraid the Detective Inspector nighy arrest her fof prostitution? Of course. But something told her that he wouldn't. The look on his face and the way he stood screamed that he was willing to give her a chance. Maybe she could tell them her story... Get help for herself and the other girls... Get them free of Avery's grasp so they could all start over.

A new life.

A new name.

A new purpose.

She could finally use her talents to help people instead of solving cases on her own. Besides, if she wanted to get revenge on the Poe killer for murdering her friends... Well... She would just have to put her trust in these three men. Otherwise, she would end up going straight back to Avery and she would never get to have closure on the man.

She lifted her head back up and looked at Greg.

"Tilly." She spoke softly in a whisper, almost like she was scared the name would drift away forever. "My name is Tilly."

**/**

**Thanks for reading. Sorry it's so short Please review! **


	6. Chapter VI- The Wallets

**Here is chapter six! Enjoy:)**

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Chapter VI- The Wallets

Alex Corbin walked down the street, attired in his suit once again, as he was meeting with a contact to improve his old warehouse to its former funcionality. He twirled the pocket watch in small circles as he approched the Hospitle and, opposite that, the Records Building that had the blueprints he needed for his job.

Alex went over todays work in his head; first, see Casper about getting the tools he needed -dimond cutters, suction cups to hold the glass, the usual equipment of his proffession- second, wait till dark then enter the Records Building and make a copy of the blueprints he would need. Finally, he would return to the warehouse and go over the blueprints for the rest of the night, planning his entry and then escape plan.

He grinned to himself, this was going to be easy he thought to himself. Almost too easy.

Alex suddenly was thrown off balance as he bumped into someone.

"Ugf! Sorry bout tha' mate," said he, using his Cockney accent to avoid his usual Irish bur. "Wasn't keepin me head-." He wiped his vest off and fliped the watch into a pocket in a practiced swing as he spoke, only stopping midsentence when he looked up.

_Soldier, ex, and a cop, current._

_Fuck_, Alex thought, seeing a badge.

The cop finished brushing himself off saying, "No worries, son." He returnnd Alex's look to him, glaring slightly at him in curiousity.

"I haven't seen you around here before..." He continued slowly.

"I jus' got in, evenin before last." Alex spoke smoothly, a smile on his lips, keeping his sudden burst of fear and pounding heart hidden. The cop nodded.

"Name?"

"Richard Smith."

The cop nodded once more and held out his hand saying, "Detective Inspector Lestrade." Alex grasped the man's hand firmly.

"Pleasure, sir." Alex greeted. _Now kindly step aside and let me bloody through!_

"Same," Lestrade said, letting go of Alex's hand and giving him one last suspicious look. "Well, Mr. Smith, care of yourself, son. There's been some dangerous activity as of late. I don't want someone like yourself to become a suspect."

_Suspicious activity?_ "Of course." Alex smiled slyly again. "Thank you, Dete'tive Inspe'tor." Lestrade nodded once more before moving past Alex and down the street. Alex watched him walk away before continuing on his way, shaking his head.

-SH-

"You're late!" Casper snapped at him in a heavy Turckish accent, when Alex reached the all too-familiar hideout. Alex shrugged in response.

"Tools?" He asked, right down to business, the accent gone and replaced with his natural Irish slur. Casper turned back to the computer before him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Don' see a guy for a few bloody years and the firs' thing he says is 'ools'?" Casper murmured to himself, typing something in. "Bloody ridiculous, i' is." Louder, to Alex, "Normal s'orage place. No'hin' has changed excep' for me agin'."

Alex swept out of the room and down the hall, swinging his pocket watch as he went, whistling quietly as he walked. When he reached the familiar iron door, he grinned widely to himself. He reached out timidly however, the grin vanishing as his hand grasped the cold, biting, metal.

Once he opened this door, he knew what would happen. Something -an outside, learned instinct- would take over and any slim chance of him backing out of this project would vanish. No second thoughts, no moral decisions coming into play...

What was he kidding, he asked himself as he grinned once more and threw open the door, revealing all of the illegal equipment -from illegal guns to items only seen in spy movies- and chuckled slightly as he walked and turned slowly in a 360 degree rotation. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

He was back. And London had better look out.

-SH-

"I feel as 'ough I should warn you," Casper said without turning around when Alex returned, bag full of supplies swung over his shoulder. "Since you lef', a ra'er good detec'ive has surfaced."

Alex laughed out loud.

"Detective?" He scoffed. "Honestly, Casper! It's me we are talkin' bout!" Casper spun his chair around to face Alex and clasped his hands together.

"Aye, but you don' know 'his detective," Casper began. "His name is Sherlock Holmes, and he has solve many, many cases."

"Holmes?" Alex echoed, frowning now. Where had he heard that name before? He shook his head, sneering. "It doesn't matter who he is, Cas. He has nothing on me."

"You have your cockiness s'I'll i' would seem." Casper sighed, shaking his head. "I worry for you, Alex. Look Sherlock Holmes up on the in'erne'. You will see wha' I mean." He wrote down a web address before handing the slip of paper to Alex who glanced at it before shoving it into his pocket and dropping the bag at Casper's feet before heading towards the door.

"I have things to do," Alex drawled. "Take my bag to my warehouse for tonight." The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Casper staring at it before turning back to his computer, sighing quietly.

-SH-

As Alex walked, heading back towards where he had run into Detective Inspector Lestrade, he swung his pocket watch around, his whistling silenced now.

How dare Casper doubt him? No one, especially not someone called "Sherlock Holmes" could defeat him. Casper knew better.

A small voice in the back of his head whispered, "Don't forget where you spent the last two years..." He flipped the watch into the pocket again before stopping, leaning his shoulder against the wall of the hospital as he stood outside.

He needed something to calm his anger... An adrenaline rush, that's all.

Alex's stomach growled then and he frowned further. He needed money for food...

_Well_, he thought. _Already have fallen from grace again so might as well go all the way_.

He surveyed the area, looking for a victim. There were plenty of people to choose from, but none seemed to be able to give him the rush. They all would be too easy. Alex sighed in disappointment as his stomach complained again.

"Oh, shut up." Alex growled at it.

The doors to the hospital opened and Alex glanced over his shoulder to see a young girl -just a few years younger then himself- exiting. Alex perked up then, quickly glancing her over.

_Head trama_, he deemed. _She knows the area well, but isn't sporty._

Alex grinned. Perfect. Would give him the adrenaline rush he needed, but wouldn't be well enough to catch him.

She stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to twomen descended down the stairs behind her; one with greying hair and the other with a long overcoat. They spoke in hushed voices for a moment before the man with the greying hair shook the young girls hand and the man in the overcoat swept past her, waving down a taxi.

"Come, John." He said, climbing into the vehicle.

"See you soon, Tilly," John said, smiling slightly and squeezing the girl's shoulder.

"Bye." She said softly, raising a hand as the two men got into the taxi and drove away.

Then, she was walking towards him. Now was his chance. He spun off of the wall, heading towards the girl, spinning the watch again in the hand closest to the girl, whistling.

Three... Two... One.

Their shoulders collided and she let out an "oof!" as he spun to catch her arm before she fell into the street.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, miss!" He exclaimed, cockney again. "I d'dn' see you 'here."

"It's fine." She said, smiling at him as she regained her balance. She waved to him as she turned away. "Have a good day." He inclined his head to her.

"Same to you, young lady." With that, he turned his back on her, and she on him, and they continued their seperate ways.

Alex grinned to himself, looking at the wallet he had taken, reaching for his own.

_Too easy._

He stopped suddenly, his face dropping. _What the...!?_

He spun back around just in time to see the girl glance over her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, holding his wallet up for him to see before bounding off into the crowd.

_When did she-!? How-!? What!?_

Alex instantly took off after her, the girl's wallet still in his hand.

She was fast, that was for sure. Able to easily maneuver through crowds, almost losing him a few times. But he was skilled in this area, and he knew London in his sleep.

He cut through an alley, leaping over fallen trash cans and debry, gritting his teeth and he ran. His plan was to cut her off, get his wallet back, then... Then what?

He'd make it up as he went.

He got to the end of the alley just as the girl was starting to run past. His hand shot out, grabbed her bicep, and dragged her into the darkness of the alley, pinning her against the wall. He grasped both of her wrists in his own, his knee shoved between her legs, against her sex, as he angled his body in a way to save his manhood if she decided to lash out.

They both were panting hard, out of breath from their game of cat and mouse. It wasn't until they sat like that for a fee moments that Alex realized how close his face was to hers, almost touching. He was sure that if he tilted his head just slightly, he'd be able to fit their lips together perfectly...

She was beautiful, he noticed. Petite, yet had a full figure. She was dressed in clothes more meant for summer then winter, causing her flesh to be almost as cold at the air around them. Her eyes were large, but not full of fear. They seemed to be laughing at him almost, while the rest of her face screamed that she was pissed off.

He glanced at her lips involuntary, cursing himself for the thoughts that followed. They looked soft, not a single crack or dry skin. Plump looking almost, yet they weren't large, nor were they small. They were the perfect size to match his own. And her nose... It was almost like a button. It added to her beauty, as did the slight rosiness on the tip of it and her cheeks.

He felt his head tilting to the side just barely and could feel himself starting to get closer. The girl's eyes fluttered shut and Alex released her wrists, cupping one side of her face, his heart threatening to explode, his entire body shaking with it. Their lips were just about to touch when...

In the distance, the clock tower chimed loudly, causing them both to startle and Alex quickly pulled away, his eyes wide with a sudden burst of fear. The girl looked towards the street then back at him, the two gazing at one another for a moment as Alex tried to think of what to say to her.

He apparently wasnt meant to say anything as the girl's fist slammed into his face and he shouted in more of surprise then pain. He dropped the wallet that was in his hand and she snatched it up before tossing his onto the ground and running away, disappearing into the crowed.

"Wait!" He called after her, holding his face, but she was gone. He was left in the alley, his nose bleeding slightly, alone. He was surprised to find later that night, when he returned home, that she had avoided his teeth and nose to the best of her ability.

**/**

**Please review!**


	7. Chapter VII- The Dip

**Hey! Sorry for not updating last week... I've been going through a few things haha! Here is chapter VII!**

**Please review!**

**Warning! Self harm in this chapter.**

**/**

Chapter VII- The Dip

The residence of 221B Baker Street was awoken by a sudden screeching of a cell phone early the morning after next. Tilly groaned from her sleeping place on the couch and pulled the blanket she was using over her head, trying to drown out the sound.

"Holmes!" She shouted when the sound did not cease. When there was no response, she threw back the blanket and stood, screaming, "HOLMES!"

"Yes?"

Her head whipped around to see him sitting in his arm chair, his fingertips pressed together and to his chin, in his pose of judicial thinking, his custom.

The phone lay next to him on the side table, with a tray of tea and biscets beside that. The phone finally silenced and Tilly just glared at him, but he wasn't even looking at her instead, he was looking at some imaginary item upon the wall in front of him.

"What are you doing?" She snapped.

"Thinking!" Was the irratated and crisp reply. "Now, would you kindly, shut up?"

"Oh no," Tilly snarled, throwing the blanket back and standing, marching over to where he sat and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "You don't get to sit there, with your phone blaring and waking me, and then tell _me_ to shut up!"

"In case it hasn't been quite obvious," The great consulting detective, Shelock Holmes, began in a tone that singled that he was about to go on a long rant. "This is, indeed, my flat. My name is upon the lease along with John Watson. Nowhere does it say "Tilly", therefore you are a guest -and a quite unwelcomed one, I am deeply afraid- and should not continue your discrimination of me inside my own home. You are but simply a guest, not the owner of this flat. You do not pay the rent, nor do you pay for the needed necessities to run it. So please, before you lower the IQ of the entire street, shut up and put on some pants and an appropriate shirt!"

"Don't you start that with me, Holmes!" Tilly instantly shot back, pointing a finger at him. "I am well aware that I do not own this flat, nor would I want to due to the simple fact that it is foul and disgusting, I don't even know how John can live here with someone like yourself. You are selfish, loathsome, and cocky. You have no regard for the people in your life and much less yourself. You have a bloody skull upon the mantel for Pete's sake!"

"I do not see how the sake of anyone with the name of "Pete" would have anything to do with my skull." Sherlock drawled, more to himself then to her.

"It's an expression!" She exclaimed throwing her hands up. "And you know as well as I that my talking wouldn't lower the damn IQ of the entire street. I am just as smart as you!"

"Oh please!" Sherlock said, making a face and standing up, towering over Tilly slightly. "You cannot compare yourself to me in the art of brilliance. You are but a mere pupel while I am a master at the art of deduction."

"You don't even know what I can do!"

"You havent solved any cases!"

"You are the most self centered man I have _ever_ met!"

"And you are the most annoying girl I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!"

"You're just angry because now you have competition."

"Oh please!" Sherlock chuckled dryly as he headed towards the kitchen. "You are no competition."

"You-!"

"Enough!"

Both brilliant minds turned to see John, still dressed in his sleeping clothes, standing in the doorway, his hair everywhere signaling that he had just woken up. He was glaring at the pair in turn, looking from one to the other.

"You both are acting extremely childish." He stated.

Tilly exclaimed, "He started it!" the same exact time that Sherlock stated, "She was the one who started it."

"I don't give a bloody fuck who started it!" John snapped, causing both of them to look at the ground like injuried puppies. "I don't care why you two were bickering. What I care about is that you two stop it now, there's no point. And honestly, I don't want to have to deal with this all day. Especially since we are on a case!"

"Is this a bad time?" Lestrade's voice floated in from behind John. Tilly shrieked and quickly ran into the kitchen to hide her inappropriate state.

"Horrible!" She snapped.

"Ignore her, George." Sherlock said. "Please, come in. John, why don't you make us some tea?"

"It's Greg!" Lestrade growled, slipping past John and into the flat. John grabbed a pair of sleeping pants from the ground by the couch -a pair he allowed Tilly to borrow to sleep in- and went into the kitchen, giving them to her and beginning to make tea.

"What can we do for you, Grant?" Sherlock asked, sitting back down as Lestrade sat across from him.

"There was a robbery last night." Lestrade said, not bothering to correct Sherlock that time. "At the palace."

"The palace?" Tilly echoed, walking back into the room now dressed appropriately, thanks to John. Lestrade nodded.

"I have reason to believe that it was the Raven."

"What's 'the Raven'?" John asked as he walked back in with a tray of tea. He began handing people their cupas, glaring slightly at Sherlock as he noticed the still-full cup beside him.

"He was a thief a few years back," Said Lestrade. "He stole some valuable items and then vanished without a trace. Every time something went missing, he would leave his mark."

"What was his mark?" Tilly asked, crossing her arms.

"A single raven feather." Lestrade reached into his bag and pulled out some files with "CLASSIFIED" written across them. He handed them to Sherlock who opened them. "Those are all the unsolved cases with him. We only have a single picture of him. It's in there." He picked up his cup and took a sip, nodding a thanks to John.

Sherlock pulled a photo out and examined it, narrowing his eyes.

"I think the Poe murders are connected to the Raven." Lestrade said, leaning back.

"A rapest, murdering thief?" Sherlock scoffed. "Not likely." He closed the files and tossed them onto the table in front of them, leaning back and resuming his thinking pose. "What was stolen?"

"Some expensive jewels, clothing," Lestrade shrugged. "A crown."

As Sherlock and Lestrade continued to talk, Tilly picked up the case files and open them, picking up a black-and-white, blurry photograph. There was a black circle around a man and she squinted at it, trying to make out his features.

After a few seconds, she felt her heart jump into her throat and a feeling of nausea took over her.

_It was him._

The man who had stollen her wallet day before last. The man who she had almost...

She suddenly felt even more sick at the thought. She had kissed plenty of men -and women if the clients, or Daddy, ordered her to- in her life and of course she had felt sick kissing them, but this one was different. How she wasn't sure, but it was.

She snapped the case files shut and tossed them back onto the table, noticing that Sherlock had vacated his seat and Lestrade was at the door talking in hushed voices with John. She felt someone watching her and turned her head towards the kitchen, seeing Sherlock standing in the doorway, watching her with curious yet thinking eyes. His mind was working fast and her heart began to pound.

_He noticed something was wrong..._

Trying to keep her cool, she stuck her tongue out at him and turned on her heel, picking up her rutsack and going into the bathroom.

She showered quickly before changing into a pair of jeans with holes in them a fake diamonds in a pattern on her back pockets. She dried her hair with a hair drier before poofing it slightly, making her light curls bouncy. She put on two spaghetti strap tank tops -one white, the other a rosey pink- before putting on a white short sleeve shirt that had a slight V cut, enough to show a slight cleavage if she pulled the tank tops down a little.

Next, she grabbed her mascara, eye shadow pallet, and lip gloss. She lightly applied the light brown and gold-ish colors from the pallet to match her ember eyes before putting on just a touch of mascara. She tossed those back into her bag and unscrewed the top off of the light, gloss pink lip gloss and dabbed that on her lower lip before rubbing her lips together to get some onto her top. She fixed a small bit that was out of place before tossing that into her rutsack as well.

Once she was happy with her appearance, she pulled out a black leather jacket and slipped that on, straighting her shirt before looking at herself once more. She grabbed her rutsack and swung it onto her back before walking out, jumping slightly when she saw Sherlock there.

Sherlock looked Tilly up and down quickly before raising an eyebrow.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"Nnnone of your business," came the reply as she slipped past him to get to her boots. He followed her close behind. "Where's John?"

"Showering."

"Ah." She slipped her boots on, tucking her jeans inside and headed downstairs. Sherlock trailed her. Tilly stopped and spun to face him when they reached the door.

"What?" She snapped.

"Mind if I go?"

"Uh, no you cannot."

"And why's that? Where are you going that you don't want me to know?"

"Oh my God!" Tilly exclaimed. "I am 20 years old! I don't need a bloody babysitter! Get off my damn case!" She threw the door open and walked out, slamming it shut causing the entire house to shake.

Tilly stormed down the street, mumbling curses towards the Holmes as she went. Who did he think he is? Bloody selfish bastard...

Now then, she had to find that man. Where to start the search...

Knowing humans, they always seem to return where they have been that's any sort of significane to them. The incident by the hospital had an effect... She would start there.

She got there rather quickly, taking short cuts through the alleys. She stood outside, scanning the area slightly as she searched for the strange man.

_This is ridiculous_, she thought, cursing herself. _There's no way in hell that she was going to find him..._

She was just about to decide that she was being stupid and go back to 221B when movement further down the street by the shops caught her eye. She looked down it and saw the familiar silhouette of the Raven.

Her heart began to pound as she watched him walking away from a café and down the street, escaping into the crowed and out of sight. She looked at the café and saw another man -slightly older, yet smaller than the Raven- sitting at the table the Raven had left, drinking a cupa.

Tilly felt her legs moving towards him, unsure of why she was doing it or what willed her to move.

"Excuse me?" She said when she reached the man. He looked up from his book with slightly large, anime-like eyes. He grinned broadly.

"Hello!" He greeted. "Hov are you, my dear?"

"Well, thank you. And yourself?" Tilly asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I am vell, dank you," he nodded. He motioned to the seat in front of him. "Vould you like to sit do'n?" Tilly nodded and sat down taking a deep breath.

"As much as I honestly hate to do this, I need to ask you a rather serious question." She said bluntly.

"Vell, ask avay!" The man was still grinning...

"That man that was here with you," She started. "Is he perhaps known as the Raven...?" The man's face instantly dropped and he looked around quickly before leaning forward.

"Who are you wid? Da police?" He whispered, suddenly sounding dangerous.

"You aren't a very good cover up if you instantly jump to conclusions like that," Tilly pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "If I wanted to tell the police anything, I would have told them that the Raven was the same person who stole my wallet the day I got out of the hospital. If I kept that small bit from them, I believe your friend is safe."

The man sat back and sighed softly.

"Aye." He said finally. "He is."

"I need to talk to him." The man laughed out loud at that.

"Talk to him?" He echoed. "I'm sorry, dearie, but I don't dink you can do dat." Tilly crossed her arms.

"And whys that?"

"He isn't one for talking."

"I need to warn him." That made the man stop.

"Of?" He asked slowly.

"The police are after him. Because of his trademark, they know it was him that stole from the palace last night. They think he's behind the Poe murders as well."

"Poe murders?" He raised an eyebrow.

"There's been murders that have a piece of literature written by Edgar Allen Poe at each crime scene."

"I see." The man sighed before pushing his chair back and standing. "Come vi' me. Ve vill go see Alex." Tilly stood and followed the man down the street, towards the docks.

-SH-

Alex walked slowly turning as he did. He had enjoyed the extra part of his contract. The only part he actually had been told to keep was the crown. The rest, well, the black market still loved the "Raven" for his finds.

He had cleaned up his warehouse. No more bloody dust. And he was able to set it up his preferred method. The only side room, were he had slept earlier was now his tools and loot storage, secured by a well-built steel door. His computer station and bed in the center of the huge storage area, with his training gym off to one corner. The police would be impressed if they ever saw this place.

Alex was waiting for a call or email from his contractor for where to deliver the crown. So far, there had been nothing so he was trying to keep himself busy until there was word.

But, God, he was bored.

He _hated_ this; the waiting. The clients were always so late in wanting the goods. Always scared to take it right away, fucking pansies.

Alex moved to the gym, specifically, the climbing frame, striped his coat revealing his hand made suit. Casper had given him the supplies he needed to make it when he dropped off the supplies for Alex's job. He jumped to the first bar and began to flip bar to bar with grace. This is how he stayed prepared for his job.

He was ten minutes into his routine when he heard the buzzer go of on his door. Alex landed softly and walked quickly to his door, picking up his hand gun as he went, attaching the silencer. He had enemies from his time in the Legion, as well as a few from stealing from major criminals.

Alex unlocked the door swung it wide and snapped the Pistol to the head of….Casper.

"Vats a rude vay to greet your friend" Casper drawled slowly looking over the sights of the gun at Alex.

"Taking a bit of license with the word friend are we? Why are you he…" Alex cut off as he saw the same woman who had punched him lean around Casper's bulk and glare at him. "What. The. Hell. Is. _She_. Doing. Here." Alex had holsterd the gun and was sorely tempted then to bring it back up. "Casper, you and I are going to have a very long discussion on the word _secret_."

"Oh, shut up, like your one to talk seeing as you decide to take a wallet in broad daylight and then try to kiss the girl at the same bloody time." Alex had his jaw hanging in shock as Tilly walked past him, into his warehouse, and Casper grined like an idiot, trying not to laugh as he followed her.

"Oh, do please come in, Ill put on tea and crumpets." Alex exclaimed sarcasticly talking to the empty doorway, slamming it shut and turning to see the woman on his computer station.

"Oh please," Tilly retorted back, equally sarcastic. "That would be lovely." She spotted a large computer station and instantly sat down in the rolling chair, booting it up, humming filling the room.

"Hey! Thats very delicatly clibratied!" Alex shouted, throwing the pistol into Casper's chest, who caught it barely.

"Oh hush, you stupid Raven." Tilly snapped, easily hacking into the computer and instantly going onto Google.

"Stupid-!?" Alex began, inraged, but fell silent as Tilly started typing in a search.

"The Raven".

Hundreds of links appeared, most of them about Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" poem. Alex crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the back of Tilly's head, Casper, now standing beside him having put the gun away, was watching the monitor curiously.

Tilly returned to the search bar and added "thief" to the end of the search and hit enter. On the other six monitors, case files saved onto Alex's computer popped up and on the main monitor, news about the latest thievery popped up. Tilly leaned back and stared at the other monitors, shocked. File after file opened up; murders, thieveries, hacking... Every sort of crime known to man.

The final file that popped up was his "World's Top Most Wanted" file, dated back two years previous in February.

"Like what you see?" Alex sneered. Tilly jumped up turning to face the two of them.

"These files," She began, pointing to the monitors. "Aren't on the internet. There's no trace of them at all."

"There shouldn't be any trace of you either," He snapped, talking with his hands in a rather animated way. "But yet, here you are!" Tilly rolled her eyes.

"You don't get it!" She said. "There is nothing on 'The Raven' except for what happened last night. Nothing! All the files you have saved aren't for the public."

"They are _personal files_." Alex mumbled.

"Ugh!" Tilly exclaimed. "The facts are staring you in the face and you're too hooked on the fact that I'm in your house! Do you not realize how weird that is!? You're one of the _World's_ Most Wanted and there's absolutely _nothing_ on you!"

"You're right," he said in mock amazement, gasping slightly. "There isn't anything on me! I mean, how could there be? That's kind of the point of being a _thief_!" By the end he was talking normally, though slightly shouting the last word as he stressed it, and glaring at her. Tilly threw her hands up in the air and made a sound of frustration.

"You are the most low life, self centered, blinded asshole I have _ever_ met! You're worst then Sherlock Holmes, worst then the Poe's murderer, worst then the men in this damn city, and I'd even go as far as say your worst then Avery himself!" She shouted at the top of her lungs.

"That is the second bloody time I have heard about this bloody 'Sherlock Holmes'!" Alex shouted, matching her level. "First off, I can guarantee you I've killed more people then this Poe murderer, I am ten times the man then any of the bloody rats in this city, and at least I've done more with my life then you _ever_ will! The most you will ever do is spread your goddamn legs for the city rats just to get a slice of bloody bread until you die off from an STD or, better yet, starvation! At least then you won't invite yourself into my damn house again like a bloody house fly!"

Tilly stumbled back as if Alex had smacked her, tears instantly springing to her eyes as she clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. Her opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to figure out what to say.

Alex stood breathing heavily, glaring at her, his heart racing as he shook from anger. He paid no attention to the tears now beginning to run down her face or to how Tilly now began to rub viciously at her arms, as if trying to claw at her own skin.

Tilly quickly stopped the movement with her hand and wiped her eyes instead before glaring up at Alex.

"Fuck you." She whispered, voice breaking. "I was just trying to help your sorry ass. The police are after you. They know you're back and that you stole from the palace."

"Good!" Alex shouted. "They should! I'm taking the damn city back, you fucking little fly! Now, get out of my bloody house and go spread your damn legs for one of your little city rats and don't bother me again!"

Fresh tears began to escape her eyes and she let out a choking sob as she hurried for the door, Alex following, continuing to shout at her.

"And if you fucking tell anyone about this place or come back, I will _personally_ get rid of you!"

"Oh don't worry," Tilly snapped, hand on the door as she looked over her shoulder at Alex. "I won't be."

"Good! I don't want to see your face again!"

The door slammed shut as Tilly left, autoable sobs being heard. Alex let out a sound of frustration and kicked a table beside him before crossing his arms.

_Who does that damn girl think she is?_

"Alex..."

Casper's quiet voice reached Alex's ears from the monitors and he turned to see his friend sitting at the monitors.

"You need to come look at dis." Casper said. Alex sighed and walked over, leaning down next to Casper to look at the monitors. "What?" Casper pointed to the search engine, scrolling down.

The further down they got, the more they realized that the only story that was about Alex was the Palace robbery. Alex felt his face lighten as they went through the pages and the realization that Tilly had been right hit him.

"Fuck." He said, pushing away from the monitors and running out of the warehouse, Casper following close behind.

"Hey!" Alex called as they caught up to Tilly. "Wait! I need to talk to you!" Tilly whipped around and Alex and Casper stopped in their tracks.

Tilly was holding a knife in one hand -a rather sharp looking one, Alex noted- as she held her other arm to her stomach, it out of the sleeve of her jacket. Her eyes were bloodshot and her make up was smeared from the tears still running down her face.

Alex felt like someone had punched him in the gut and it worsened when he realized the knife had blood on it; her blood.

"Oh dear God..." He whispered, shaking his head. _She hurt herself... She hurt yourself because of you..._

Casper left Alex's side and gently took the knife away from Tilly, whispering to her softly as he helped her sit down and carefully took her arm away from her stomach. The slashes covered her forearm, blood slightly oozing from them. Red stained her white shirt causing Casper to sigh softly.

"Vhy, kız ?" He asked, quietly. "Vhy do dis to yourself?" Tilly shook her head and Casper gently tore off the bloodied part of her shirt before wrapping it around her slashed up arm, securing it well, before pulling out a handkerchief and dabing at Tilly's face, cleaning up the tears and make up. "You're beautiful, kız, you shouldn't do this to yourself."

Tilly only shrugged until Casper was done and took her hand helping her stand, tucking his handkerchief away as he softly kissed the top of her head. He tucked the knife into his pocket, unwilling to give it back to her.

"I'm..." Alex began, getting their attention. Casper looked at him sadly while Tilly full out glared at him with hatred and pain. "I'm so, so sorry... I shouldn't have said any of that-"

"Go fuck yourself!" Tilly shouted. "You have no idea what you just said to me! No idea the effect! How dare you!"

"Then why don't you explain it?" Alex asked, starting to get irritated again.

"There is no way in hell I'm explaining anything to a rat bastard like you!" Tilly shouted. "You don't even believe I was right about the files!"

"You were right, okay!?" Alex shouted back throwing his hands up into the air. "You want a bloody damn kiss or something for it!?"

"Not from the likes of you!" She snapped. "You're probably a horrid snogger anyways!" Alex walked up to her snarling, "I'll show you how bad of a snogger I am!"

He leaned down to kiss her before he suddenly couldn't breathe as water entered his lungs. He swam to the surface of the water, his cheek throbbing where Tilly had punched him, throwing him into the ocean.

"If I had done dat," Casper was saying to Tilly, leaning over to her. "He vould had shot me." Alex glared daggers at Tilly.

"I don't think I'm getting away free." She said back to him.

"Tilly?" A male's voice called in the distance.

"That's Sherlock," Tilly whispered hurriedly. "Alex, Casper, quick! Hide!" Alex swam under the dock and Casper ran to hide behind some shipments as the shouts of Tilly's name got closer. Just as Tilly turned around, Sherlock appeared, eyes narrowed in curiousity.

"Who were you talking to?" He asked.

"None of your business, Holmes." She snapped, beginning to walk past him. Sherlock glanced at the water as he spoke.

"You do know what tomorrow is, don't you?" He asked. Tilly froze, mid stride as the realization crept in.

There was a long pause before she spoke softly. "It's tonight, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

Silence.

Tilly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I don't want to go back." She said. Sherlock was silent, now watching her. She turned to face him. "Avery won't be too kind."

"I know."

"Just because he will get me back doesn't mean you two and the girl he threatened will be okay."

"I am aware."

"Attenborough Jewellers & Pawnbrokers?" Sherlock nodded and Tilly nodded back, taking a deep breath.

"John, George, and I need to talk to you about a few things before hand." Sherlock said after a moment.

"Greg." Tilly corrected apatheticly. She nodded. "Let's go then." She turned and began to walk off. Sherlock glanced back at the water once more before following her close behind.

Once they were out of sight, Casper helped Alex out of the water and the two looked towards the way they had gone curiously. Alex turned to head back to his warehouse, ready to do some research on the girl -Tilly- and this mysterious Avery.


	8. Chapter VIII- Avery

**Here's chapter VIII! I decided to post this a day early because tomorrow I get to see my amazing fiancé for the first time in 6 months! YAY!:D **

**Enjoy:)**

**Warning!: this chapter has abuse, sexual content, and violence.**

**/**

Chapter VIII- Avery

Attenborough Jewellers & Pawnbrokers was a twenty minute drive from 221 Baker Street and the cabbie ride was full of silence from the trio.

Tilly sat in the middle of John and Sherlock, staring at her hands, trying to mentally prepare herself for what was about to happen.

Earlier that day, they had met with Lestrade to discuss what Tilly's job was; she was to go in and gain information and evidence against Avery's sex trafficking to use against him in court and that would lead to his arrest. Simple enough, she thought.

_It's only thirty days..._ She told herself repeatedly. _Thirty days and then they can arrest him and she, along with the other girls, will be free._

_Thirty days... Just thirty days..._

"We're here." John said softly as the cabbie stopped. Tilly looked up and around, feeling of dread over coming her. Sherlock paid the cabbie and quickly got out, standing on the sidewalk. John placed a reassuring hand on Tilly's shoulder before getting out, Tilly slidding across the seat to join them.

The cabbie drove off just as two large, bulky men approached, carrying guns.

"Come with us." One said gruffley as the other waved the gun in his hand to signal them to move. Sherlock led the way, Tilly between him and John.

"We've missed you, Julia," the first man sneered at her as they walked along the sidewalk. "You truely are the best out of all the girls." He laughed and Tilly grew tense.

_Thirty days,_ she told herself. _Just thirty days... You can do it. Just thirty days..._

They walked for what seemed like forever; only stopping when they reached the ship yard where street lights revealed a man with two other large men on either side of him, and a tiny, blonde haired girl -about 8 years old- kneeling in front of him, pleasuring him. He was holding her head, eyes closed as she worked. He opened them when he heard approaching footsteps and he grinned darkly.

"Ah, Julia," he greeted, his voice filled with sexual pleasure. "How nice it is to see you. Ohhh..." He gripped the girl's hair tighter and began thrusting into her mouth, causing her to gag violently. "Ohhh, I'm going to cum, Victoria. Ohhh, are you ready? I'm going to shoot it into your throat. You better swallow all of it, otherwise Daddy will be angry. Oh God, here I come. Fuck!" He stilled suddenly, his entire body stiff as he groaned. When he was finished he sighed and took himself out of Victoria's mouth.

"Swallow." He commanded. The small girl did and he stroked her cheek. "Good girl. You made Daddy very happy."

"Thank you, Daddy." She whispered. He smirked, tossing her aside and returned himself to his pants.

Tilly felt sick; soon, that would be her.

Avery was the definition of a rich, cocky bastard. He wore his midnight colored hair slicked back and he a small mustache and beard along with sideburns, perfectly trim. He wore the most expensive suit he could find and behind him his bodyguards sat the red Mustang he drove.

He clapped his hands together before taking a few steps forward.

"My, my," he began, smiling sickly. "You have been a busy girl, haven't you, Julia? Do you have the money you owe me?" Tilly stood stiffly and had to force herself to move, grabbing out her wallet and pulling out all the money she had gotten from her last work night. Avery motioned for her to come forward. "Bring it to me."

She looked to John and Sherlock, knowing the moment for her to be handed over was now. She swallowed thickly and forced herself to move forward, taking small, hesitant steps. When she reached Avery, he grasped her wrist and pulled her to him, holding her against his body as he plucked the money from her hand and leaned down to kiss her.

She held back the bile building in her throat as she kissed him back, having to force a quiet moan out for him to get him to believe she enjoyed it. When he broke away, he held her tightly agaisnt him, sighing. She could feel him in his pants, growing and pulsing.

"Oh, Julia," he whispered. "I missed you so much. Daddy can't wait to have you again. Have you missed me?"

"Yes." Tilly lied.

"Did you lay in bed at night thinking of me, hot and bothered?"

"Yes." A tear slipped out of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

"Did you please yourself on my behalf?" Tilly swallowed hard.

_Thirty days..._

"Yes." She said, her voice breaking. Avery moaned softly at the thought.

"Oh, baby," he whispered, stroking her hair. "You will be satisfied tonight, I promise you." He looked up at Sherlock and John. "You two," he barked. "You kept my prize away from me. I should have you blown from where you stand, but I have better plans for you." He sneered. "When I need you, you will come do my bidding. If you don't, Julia here will pay the consciousness and then my men will bring you to me so you can see what I do to her. After that, you both will be stripped of every inch of skin, each nail torn off, each eye ball stabbed with needles... Well, you will wish you were never born. Do I make myself clear, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?"

"Yes." Sherlock said as John nodded, his teeth clenched.

"Good," Avery said before placing a kiss on Tilly's head. "Now leave!" With that, he swept Tilly away to his car, Victoria and the four men following, getting into another car, and they all drove away.

"The game, John, has begun." Sherlock whispered though this time he said it, there was no excitment. He was free of emotion; apathetic and blank. John nodded barely, feeling tears beginning to sting his eyes.

_What have we done?_

-SH-

Alex was skilled at many things, and the of course included stalking.

When he had heard the name of the meeting place for the trio and Avery, he had gone there long before midnight and sat out of sight, waiting. When Sherlock and John brought Tilly, he had followed them as they bodyguards took them to the docks, where Alex sat behind shipings and listened.

What he heard made him feel sick; this man -Avery- was one of the worst kind of me men had ever met. The kind that made his skin crawl and want to kill every last man in the world.

But, what was worse, was what conclusion he drew.

The man was a sex trafficker, and Tilly was owned by him. What he had said to her resurfaced in his mind and he felt sick to his stomach. What had he done? Why did he say that? He should have known better...

_Go spread your legs for your city rats!_

Alex flinched at his own words as he followed the red Mustang on the motorbike he had "borrowed". He felt like such a horrible person...

The cars went to the country, turning down a dirt road and stopped outside a nice looking, three-story house. Alex had continued further down a ways before getting rid of the motorbike and slipping onto the property. He was able to pick the lock on the basement door and slipped down inside before climbing into a vent and crawling through it until he heard Avery's voice.

"...fucking cunt!"

_Smack!_

Followed by a yell of pain.

"Do you have any idea what you could have cost me!?" He screamed at Tilly, who was laying on the ground sobbing, curled up into a ball.

"I'm sorry!" She sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry... I didn't mean to..."

"Liar!" Avery shouted, bringing a whip down upon her naked body, cutting her flesh open as blood oozed out. "You wanted out, so you ran away. Ran away and tried to hide from Daddy!" Another whipping and scream.

Alex felt anger and hate building inside his chest, he felt it burning and had to fight the urge to make himself known and slit Avery's throat now.

There were too many bodygaurds in the room; seven to be exact. There was no way Alex would be able to take all of them. Besides, some of the girls in the room would get hurt in the process.

Alex hated Sherlock then. How could he do this, how could he let this happen to her? Did he even know what was happening?

"Daddy... Daddy, please..." Tilly sobbed, curling further into a ball as the whipping ceased. Avery was breathing hard and he tossed the whip aside, stripping off his pants and marching over to Tilly.

"No!" Tilly shouted, sobbing loudly. "No, Avery! Please! Please!" He back handed her.

"Shut up!" He yelled. "Shut the fuck up! You damn cunt! You are going to be punished, you slut, and you are going to cry out 'Daddy' as you cum! Do I make myself clear!?"

"Y-yes, Daddy..." Tilly whispered and as soon as she did, the rape began.

Alex could see the pain on Tilly's face as Avery raped her and did horrible things to her as he did; burned her with his bodyguards' cigarettes, held a knife to her throat, cut her skin open with the knife, called her horrid names and forced her to gag on his cock to the point she vomited several times, and he made her eat it again in order to clean it.

"You're my dog," he said. "And dog's eat their own vomit, don't they?" When she was done, he had grabbed her by the hair and smacked her whispering, "You're mine, Julia. All mine. And you will never, _ever_ be free!" He threw her to the ground before starting to rape her again.

He cam several times that night; covering her completely. After he was done, he allowed his guards to do the same, causing Tilly so much pain to the point she passed out multiple times and they had to splash her with cold water.

Eventually, the screams ceased and the only sounds were the men grunting and the slapping of their skin on hers. When the last guard was done, Avery took her again, forcing her to moan 'Daddy' as she cam.

Spent, Avery ordered the other girls to take Tilly to her room and Alex quickly backed out of the vent and went back outside.

He was shaking, trembling with nausea and anger and self-hatred. Sick at what he had seen, anger at Sherlock for giving her back to Avery, and self-hatred for what he had said to Tilly... He should have known, should have been able to deduce it, but he didn't.

He truely was a stupid Raven.

A light on the third floor turned on and instantly caught his attention. He started silently climbing up the side of the house, climbing onto the gutter and roofs, until he reached the room.

The light was off now, and the moon shone brightly on the floor, revealing a broken and battered Tilly -still covered in blood and cum- laying motionless except for the uneven breathing. Alex felt himself begin to choke up as he unlocked the window and slipped inside quietly.

"Tilly?" He whispered. When she didn't respond, he took a few steps forward, swallowing hard. "Tilly...?" His voice broke that time as he saw the damage up close. "Oh my God..."

"A-Alex..." She breathed.

"Oh God, Tilly!" Alex whispered loudly, hurrying over and picking her up gently, leaning against the bed beside him as he held her to his chest, ignoring the mess getting on him. "Oh, Tilly... I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry..." Tilly laid limp in his arms, her head against his chest, eyes closed and tears falling down her cheeks.

"Water?" She breathed out and Alex bit his lip, shaking his head.

"No," he said, hating himself even more. "I don't have any... I'm sorry..."

"'S okay..." She whispered, taking in a shuttering breath and coughing violently, causing Alex to tense up. "Why... are you... here?"

"To get you out of this hell," he said, holding her tighter. "You can't be here."

"No!" Tilly said, suddenly panicking, her eyes now open and full of fear. "Can't leave! Have... Have to stay and... help... others..."

_She's suffering for them..._ Alex realized. _She's suffering for the other girls..._

His lower lip began to tremble then and he buried his face in her hair, sobbing as he whispered his apologies over and over again, rocking back and forth, holding the broken girl.

She began to shiver a few minutes later and he realized the window was still open and she was bare. He picked her up and set her on the bed, closing the window. He took off his jacket and began to clean her gently. She hissed in pain now and then and he would quickly apologize, guilt growing inside him.

When she was cleaned, he pulled the covers back and laid them over her, sitting on the bed beside her, stroking her hair. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Don't go..." She whispered, another tear slipping out.

"I won't," he whispered back, smiling sadly. "Not until morning. I'll stay here as you sleep." Tilly nodded and closed her eyes, her head falling to the side as she passed out. Alex carefully climbed over her and under the blankets before he pulled her against his body, framing hers with his. He held her close and whispered nonsense to her, telling her stories he read as a kid, not sure if he was doing it for her or for himself.

At some point, he ended up falling asleep, Tilly curled into his chest, and he didn't wake until he felt the sun on him. He blinked and looked outside the window, frowning before looking back down at Tilly. She was still naked and the wounds red and angry. It was worse in the sunlight and his angry grew.

_No man should ever touch a woman like this, _he thought. _No man._

He heard voices then and he quickly unwrapped himself from Tilly, her making a noise of protest. He grabbed his jacket and whispered some apologies, promising to be back, before he slipped out the window just as the door to Tilly's room opened.

Alex left quickly, not staying to find out who it was or what was about to happen. He had one thought in mind and one thought only; go see Sherlock.


	9. Chapter IX- Breaking Point

**Sherlock is in trouble now... Don't you think? Haha! Without further ado, here is chapter IX. Please please please review! And sorry I'm so late! :( there's been a lot going on lately. **

**Enjoy!**

**/**

Chapter IX- Breaking Point

Alex saw the text from Casper with Sherlock's address on the SmartGlass of his Helmet, a gift from Casper awhile back for completeing a difficult assignment. He was close to 221B, about five minutes away if he stayed the speed limit. Not wanting to waist time and fueled with anger, Alex gunned the throttle and made it in two.

He parked down the street. The wind had cleaned the majority of the blood off of him, save some around his collar. Alex had his Sneaking suit on under his riding jacket, wich he kept on to hide his pistol in its back holster, a P226 German Prestige. Fancy and expensive, but deadly as well.

Alex walked briskly to the door and found it locked. Figures.

He used his lock gun and picked the lock quickly and quietly, letting himself in and walking up the stairs lightly to the door to the apartment, hearing Sherlock's voice on the other side, same from the docks.

Anger fueled him. How could someone who worked with the police allow Tilly to return to Avery, to the world of sex trafficking? It made him sick and angry anough to kill.

Alex knocked in his typical fashion.

The door blew in from his kick, splinters flying out. Alex rushed in calmly behind it, went to the left and grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his bathrobe and slammed him to the wall.

Alex heard movement to his left, in the kitchen, and quickly switched hands, slamming Sherlock's collarbone with his left and drawing his P226 with his right, turning as he did, fully extended, holding Sherlock in one hand and covering the ex-solider with the other.

Alex motioned for the soldier to drop the knife he had, and the solider slowly raised his hands as he did as Alex motioned. Alex kept his eyes on the soldier and ground the heel of his hand into Sherlock's collarbone, feeling for the crack in the bone he had to have caused. From the sharp intake of breath he found it.

Alex took a deep breath and began to speak in a dangerously soft tone. "Tell me why you shouldn't die, Sherlock. Tell me why you shouldn't pay for what's happening to Tilly." Hearing no response Alex went on. "Did you know he raped her? Beat her? Him and all his guards. *Every. Last. One.* She was covered in blood and semen. Because of you. You handed her over, gave her the fucking mission to become saviour of her friends. USED HER!" Alex was in full swing now, but he never looked away from the gun, if he did…he might kill Sherlock.

"You see the blood on my collar? That's hers. I could have got her out but no, she stays to help her friends, because you fucking cops can't do the right thing and WASTE EVERY ONE OF THOSE BASTERDS!"

"So tell me Sherlock," Alex said quietly, his voice dripping with the threat. "Tell me why I should let you live."

Alex waited for some reply, some excuse. He wanted to shoot him, wanted to make someone pay for what Tilly was going through. He waited and finally got a quiet reply from the man at his mercy, "Because it was Tilly's idea."

Alex wanted to scream out she wouldn't go back, but he knew better. The short amount of time he got to see Tilly told him she was as much a soldier as the two in this room; soldiers don't leave others behind...

Alex holstered the gun and pushed off of Sherlock, causing him to hit the wall, then went to the arm chair, collapsing in it, staring blankly ahead. The other two sat opposite of him on the couch. Sherlock was staring at him as the soldier -John is what Sherlock murmured when he replied he was okay- sat and checked his collarbone.

"What the bloody hell are you staring at." Alex said quietly.

"The Raven," Sherlock replied simply.

A tired, weak smile forced Alex's lips up slightly and he tossed a raven feather lightly onto the table.

"So I've been found out." He whispered.

"Not difficult to guess," Sherlock said. "We have one of your last remaining files. That's how Tilly found out who you were, I could tell by the look on her face."

"What are you?" Alex snapped.

"A consulting detective." Sherlock said before taking in a sharp intake of breath as John's hand brushed his collarbone.

"Oh hush," John said. "You're fine. Just a hairline fracture."

"Casper warned me about you," Alex said. "Told me you were good and solved a lot of cases."

"He probably read the blog." John said, standing and heading to the kitchen.

"That bloody blog needs to be taken down." Sherlock grumbled.

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

"You two bicker like an old married couple." Alex shook his head.

"It's not the first time we have heard that..." John sighed.

Sherlock laid down on the couch and clasped his hands together in his usual pose, frowning.

"What are we to do with you..." He wondered aloud.

"Still in your morning clothes I see, brother mine." A bored voice drawled from the doorway.

"Oh yes," Sherlock exclaimed in sarcastic excitement. "Let's just have everybody visit this morning! You want to attack me too, Mycroft?"

"It would honestly bring me great joy." Mycroft smiled tightly as he walked into the room.

"Morning, Mycroft," John greeted as he brought in tea. "Would you like-?"

"No thank you, Doctor Watson," Mycroft interrupted, turning to the ex-solider. "I simply just stopped by to give you a hint on your recent murder." His eyes landed on Alex who was still staring at the wall with a dead look on his face. Alex felt someone watching him and turned his head to meet Mycroft's eye.

The two stared at each other for a moment, silence filling the room as it grew tense.

"What are you bloody well staring at?" Alex snapped, suddenly angry.

"The Raven." Mycroft responsed.

"Of course you are!" Alex sneered. "Let's all show how brilliant we are and state the obvious!"

"Okay!" Sherlock said, getting up quickly only to hiss in pain and put a hand to his collarbone, sitting back down.

"Sherlock!" John said worriedly, hurrying over to him.

"Oh don't worry yourself, Doctor," Mycroft said. "My brother is a drama queen. You should know that by now." He pulled out a file from inside his jacket and set it on the table between the two arm chairs. "I must be going now. Lot's of official government business to attend to." With that, he glanced at Alex once more, a smirk tugging at his lips before he was gone.

"Can I?" Sherlock asked John.

"*No*!" John replied.

"It would be quick," Sherlock argued. "A simple little push down the stairs..." John rolled his eyes and walked over to the table, snatching up the files and taking them into the kicthen.

Silence once again made itself present, the only sound the soft ticking of a clock.

After a while, Alex broke the silence. "Is no one going to arrest me?" He asked.

"No." Sherlock said, starting to grin.

"And why's that?" Sherlock and Alex stared at each other and Sherlock put his hands together as he continued to smile at the criminal.

"We, along with Tilly, are going to need you."

-SH-

Alex thought about what Sherlock had said as he drove down the back roads to Avery's Brothel. The only good thing in this is that Alex would be the one to go in to get Tilly. He would be prepared, and if he was lucky, Alex would get to ghost the slimy piece of shit that Avery was, but right now, he just wanted Tilly out.

Alex reached the tree line where he would stash his bike and did so, leaving his jacket behind and donning the Balaclava so that he would have less of a chance of getting spotted. He wanted to kill the guard he slipped past but he knew he couldn't, not yet.

Alex climbed swiftly using every ledge and crack to make his way to the window were Tilly was staying. It was left open; she had left it open for him he realized, and Alex's heart missed a beat as he entered the room with that thought in mind, but it was quickly diminished as he saw the scene inside.

He took it all in with a slow, burning anger. The bedding in the corner, soiled with blood and semen, the leather and cuffs, and "tools" littering the floor, then Tilly, asleep, under a clean sheet, the last one Alex assumed. It was showing fresh blood stains from new wounds that scattered her body. She was bleeding.

Alex rushed to Tilly, gently taking the sheet off and tending to her wounds, humming a tune from Ireland as he did, as much to calm her as himself. She remained asleep and shivering, so Alex took off the top part of his suit, laying it over her gently, forgetting his self-conciseness about his body and the scars that crisscrossed his skin. Alex made sure she was heating up and then walked to the door.

He opened it slowly, noting that they didn't lock it. He glanced left and then right before he walked around the second floor, memorizing the layout as best he could, which was photographic.

Alex returned to Tilly's room shortly after and glanced around, seeing if there were places he could hide if someone tried to enter it while he has there. The rafters and closet were good options and, satisfied that he wouldn't be caught, Alex slipped in next to Tilly, as he would nearly every night he could.

She stirred slightly and whimpered, glancing over at him with tired eyes.

"Alex?" She whispered.

"Shhh..." He hushed her gently as he stroked her hair, moving straineds out of her face. "Go back to sleep."

"I have an appointment..." She said, curling into him as she pulled his shirt closer to her chin. "He should be here any minute." Alex closed his eyes, trying to diminish his anger, and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his chest. She turned to bury her face into his torso, her hand gently tracing his scars.

Alex watched her, unsure how to feel. He cursed his racing heart as it sped up at her touch. Shocks went through his body as her fingertips brushed against his skin, and he had to fight the feeling that threatened to travel south.

Voices outside on the staircase was able to be heard and Tilly shot up in bed.

"Closet!" She hissed, shoving his shirt at him. "Now!" Alex moved quickly, hidding in the closet just as the door opened.

"Oh, dearie," Avery's voice said, sickley sweet. "You have a visitor." A man entered and he spoke quickly to Avery, handing him some cash before Avery left, shutting the door.

Fancy shoes clipped upon the wooden floor slowly, the man our of Alex's line of sight.

"What's your name?" The man asked as he stopped.

"I can be anyone you want me to be." Tilly replied, biting her lower lip seductivly.

"And if I want you to be yourself?" Tilly tilted her head to the side.

"Why would you do that?" She asked. The man began walking again and discarded his jacket and shoes by the bed before crawling onto it, Tilly backing away barely, smirking at him.

*It's an act,* Alex told himself. *She's acting.*

Then they were kissing. He was caressing her cheek and kissing her deeply. He traveled along her jaw and down her neck, causing her to moan softly.

*It's an act...*

The man puked away. "I wouldn't." He sneered. He grabbed and yanked her by the hair then, causing her to gasp as he unbuttoned his pants, forcing her to take him in her mouth.

Alex quickly moved so he couldn't see what was happening, but that didn't stop him from hearing it. It was hard to ignore Tilly's forced moans of false pleasure, the sound of sex, the man's groaning and harsh words... It lasted an hour.

When the man had finished, Tilly walked him to the door and kissed his lips softly before he departed. As soon as the door closed, Alex heard her collapse by it, sobbing quietly. Alex rushed to her and cradled her gently, humming again, using a discarded pillow case to clean her softly.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered. "I'm sorry your saw that..."

"Hush, mouse," he whispered. "You don't get to apologized. Not for this." She curled into his chest and he picked her up, returning to the bed with her. He laid the shirt back over her before pulling her to his chest, running a hand through her hair as she cried quietly and he continued to hum.

Eventually, the tears stopped and she slowly looked up at him, smiling sadly. Before he knew what he was doing, he had leaned down and kissed her temple, shocks exploding from the contact of his lips and her skin. She curled into him further before closing her eyes and falling asleep. He held her all night, resting barely, keeping watch over her. When the sun returned, he left with a feeling of dread.

He made a silent vow to return that night, and every night he could to be with her and make sure she was okay.

Then, when it was all said and done, he would kill every last one of those bastards.


End file.
